


sick of you

by hyperlupine (kaisenshirii)



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based On a DNMO Song, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Mind Manipulation, No Smut, Not Beta Read, Not Happy, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:02:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaisenshirii/pseuds/hyperlupine
Summary: Uncanny. Unreal. Dream is a strange one.You won't fall for his mind games, and you're growing sick of being used.-Or: A seven-part short story centered around the eventual deterioration of exiled TommyInnit if Dream was that much more of a manipulative bastard. Not a happy story, I suppose. Tommy doesn't wrangle out of Dream's grasp, by the way, and this is not a recovery story.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 74





	1. your sight, your shape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silence speaks a thousand words; learn to bide your time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this fic is written in lower-case. If you don't like it, don't worry, my future works won't be like this. I might make a properly-capitalized version one day. I'm also trying a different writing style. I'll be back to normal after this particular experiment.
> 
> (Re-edited as of Feb 3, 2021.)

_i’m sick of your voice.  
_

you want to claw out the hand tousling your hair like you’re a puppy to be doted on. Dream is giving you a radiant smile, one that’s hiding something so, so sinister behind it, despite his entire aura radiating nothing but sincerity and pride.

snake. that’s what Dream is to you. a snake. a liar.

“you’re doing great,” your tormentor says, his canines glinting as the corners of his mouth lifts. “i hope exile isn’t treating you too harshly.”

snake. snake. snake. snake.

but you don’t say it.

“it’s… fine,” you force out instead.

you can’t bring yourself to spite Dream—not right now, not in broad daylight, not when he can spear your guts out and tear your into shreds like a flimsy paper crane.

(that’s all you were, anyway. you were meant to be folded and trimmed by a bigger force of nature, turned into someone’s wildcard, someone’s weapon, someone’s ploy…

you won’t admit it, but the feeling of being blown around by people more powerful and stronger than you is starting to become familiar.

but your paper wings aren’t folded in yet. you still have a will to fight back. you’ll fly away one day, and you’ll leave this hell.)

Dream’s smile drops a little when he notices your glum demeanor. “Tommy”— oh man, you’re dreading his continuation—”you know I care about you, right?”

the words wash over you like a sticky tide of tar. how could you forget?

“i know, Dream.” your tone expresses major disinterest.

“you can tell me anything.”

Dream is pushing.

you scoff and plant your stone axe into the bristling grass. “as if i’ll ever do that.” why does it feel like you’re treading on a tiger’s territory? it feels lethal. dangerous. strangely vulnerable. “leave me the fuck alone.”

if this man only listens to outright rejection, fine. what you said was as clear as day. he can leave now.

but Dream doesn’t leave. he stands next to you, those creepy dots of black ink on white ceramic drilling holes into your side. you bring yourself to challenge that gaze. the more you stare back, the more the mask seems to come to life, twisting and warping your perception, similar to oil in the sea.

uncanny. unreal. you’re coming to realize that Dream’s gaze is petrifying. slowly, like a dog, you yield, figurative hackles lowering. Dream doesn’t say anything, but his silence feels horrifyingly oppressive, stamping imaginary weights onto your chest. the world feels a little off-kilter—it’s tilted a bit too far to the right, wobbling on its axis.

Dream looks at you. “alright,” he finally says. “bye then, Tommy.” four words, no apology, and he’s off.

_four words. no apology._

not that you wanted one. hell, it's not like you _expected_ one. it still feels strangely unsatisfying. a strange sensation boils over the pit of your stomach.

 _unease_ , you realize. you’re feeling uneasy. and the so climb of harrowing trepidation begins its ascend there.

you take some time to calm down. Dream is gone, and he’s probably mad. that’s fine. he’ll be back to normal in a few days when he visits you again. you have that much trust in him, at the very least.

maybe you should watch your mouth a little, you think to yourself, but you’re used to blurting out statements without regard for consequences, and this… this can’t be counted as an actual consequence. besides, you can survive a stab or two if Dream finally decides to rid you of your smirk. it's no biggie at all.

though, when you really start to think about it, Dream would never stab your guts out. he’d much rather tear you down, piece by piece, until your reality is no longer yours and his words are poisoning your brain; sinking your values, beliefs, and morales like thunderstorms wearing out a cliff face till there’s nothing left.

alright, it’s terrifying, but it won’t ever work on you. you aren’t so easily swayed. Dream—that snake, that bastard—will not get his disgusting demon talons all over you.

you pull your axe back out from the ground. this exile will be over soon.

(the paper crane wings unfurl. they flutter haphazardly, trying to catch any drifts or breezes as it looks for changes in the wind, searching for the perfect moment to stretch out and take its beholder far, far away.

the air is stagnant. the wings droop. a serpent watches from afar, also looking for a moment to strike.

the serpent bides its time.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to talk to me, feel free to go to my ask.fm [here](https://ask.fm/kermitboi190674). Any comments are welcome.


	2. your spite, your shade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hold your tongue and take a jump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Re-edited as of Feb 3, 2021.)

_i’m sick of your face._   
  


...and _of course_ Dream comes back with a horrible attitude to go along with his horrible face.

“it’s—i can’t just throw away a weeks worth of hard work!”

Dream’s expression—despite being masked—is steely. around Dream, a calm before the storm boils, but this storm is a little too aggressive, a little too fast as it carries a green-draped god in the middle, his explosively unpredictable attitude fueling it all.

and despite being an angsty, rebellious teen, you definitely do not want a homicidal man coming after your head with his nightmare-inducing arsenal of weaponry.

“Tommy," the pseudo-god snaps, "don’t make me say this twice.”

jesus christ, his tone. the tone is threatening enough to make you falter. you spare a fearful glance at Dream’s mask—there might as well be vantablack thunderclouds swirling around him.

“i—well—fine, fine! holy shit, Dream, just take it—” you trip over your words as you throw your valuables into the hole that Dream had dug moments ago, sweating nervously as you did so. the sun bakes your shirt into your back, blazing overhead, its harsh rays digging into your skin as you wordlessly shrugged your armor off.

“thank you.” Dream blows up the hole without even a second of hesitation, and you can only watch in silence.

lesson learnt: you’re watching your mouth around him. maybe if you’re nicer to Dream, he won’t ruin weeks of tiresome mining and resource-gathering with a simple spark of flint and steel.

as more weeks pass, you try to be nicer. you don’t bite back, you don’t hiss at him beneath your breath every other minute or two. Ghostbur doesn’t notice the change, even though you were the one that had constantly complained about Dream to him. it's sickening, how you're kissing his ass, trying to be a nicer little TommyInnit that the _mighty_ and _respectable_ Dream would love.

despite putting in effort, it doesn’t work.

Dream lights and blows up your inventory like it’s his personal goal to destroy all that you’ve rightfully earned.

(why? why does he do it?

is it a fault on your part? what fault is it? why, why, why?

does he have a vendetta against you? if so, what caused it?

Dream is sending signals that make no sense to you. is it that hard to be sorry? does he not understand the concept of apologies and change?

against your initial choices, you decide to approach him before the sun sets.)

“Dream.”

you shakily call out to him before he can leave the bay area. Dream doesn’t turn around, instead choosing to cock his head as a sign that he’s listening.

“look, whatever i did, whatever i said… i’m sorry.” the words feel heavy on your tongue, weighing down your jaw. you have to physically force yourself to regurgigate them out, hoping that Dream will take it as a sincere apology and not a poor vomit of words.

“i’m sorry if i offended you in the past, a-and i’m sorry if i did anything to make you hate me—please just tell me what i did wrong. i’ll fix it, just— _please_ don’t blow up my things the next time—”

“it’s not your fault,” Dream suddenly says, cutting you off. you stop and gape in shock.

“not… my fault? you’re sending really weird signals, Dream.”

“watch your mouth,” Dream barks, and you immediately snap your mouth shut, panic flaring in your chest in all directions like a blooming firework.

“i take it back,” Dream says, voice low, “it _is_ your fault. you need to learn to hold your tongue.”

silence, for the slightest of seconds. “is that it?” you finally ask, confused. Dream shifts, moving in his stance to turn and face you, the sunset behind him casting a long shadow all over the crystalline shore. he is quiet for a short moment.

“yes,” he finally says, smiling ever-so-slightly. “Tommy, if you learn to control your bad attitude, i’ll stop blowing up your items.”

“i—wow, why didn’t you say so earlier?” you exclaim, a huge grin spreading all across your face. “well—thank you, Dream, thank you—i appreciate it, i really do. i’ll try to, uh, control myself.”

Dream waves a careless hand—(but he’s never careless.)—nodding as he does so. “this also means no bad-mouthing me behind my back,” he adds, noting the way you went still for the slightest of moments. “i’ll interrogate Ghostbur if i have to. do try your best to change, Tommy, and don't push your luck.”

“i will, Dream. i will.”

if it’s for your items, learning to control your word choice might just be worth it. you’re doing this on your own free will, too. it’s not like Dream’s _forcing_ you to behave.

you leave the beach with a happier attitude and a brighter smile. maybe Dream’s not that much of a bastard. at least he’s giving you a good deal, one that benefits you both.

(the paper crane wings flutter madly, straining against its owner’s back, but the owner insists on keeping it down. the wings, again, droop temporarily. taking its chance, the hidden serpent springs, latching onto the owner’s mind.

the wings do not notice the poison seeping in.

the owner doesn’t, either.)

**Author's Note:**

> [——](https://youtu.be/IlR4C6N-Uus?t=113)


End file.
